


Breakable

by Ennaess



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Feral Behavior, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Gentle Sex, Geralt wants his bard and he wants him NOW, Light Bondage, M/M, Overwhelmed Jaskier, Protective Eskel (The Witcher), Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, followed by
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27111538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ennaess/pseuds/Ennaess
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier run into Eskel a few weeks before they must split up for the winter. Geralt is happy to see his brother. Jaskier is intrigued by this new witcher and his relationship with Geralt. And Eskel... Well, it doesn't take him long to realize the White Wolf and the bard are dancing around their attraction to one another, and he suspects he knows why Geralt has been holding back.In which the boys get a little rough before they get soft, and Geralt learns some patience.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 183
Kudos: 706





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm *mostly* done writing this. It'll likely have 3 chapters. Question mark is there cuz...well, y'all know me.

Geralt and Jaskier met the second witcher deep in the Velenian woods.

The days were getting shorter. Winter hadn't yet reared its head, but Geralt was preparing to head north soon, and Jaskier would go with him as far as Novigrad. He planned on hunkering down at the Rosemary and Thyme for the duration--at least until the roads thawed. 

They had two more weeks together, maybe three. And though Jaskier would have preferred a warm bed at an inn, he liked spending these nights alone with Geralt, out in the open, camping under the stars. It was...personable. Intimate.

Not that _they_ were intimate or anything.

Unfortunately.

They'd just picked a spot to settle for the evening, and Geralt had started to remove Roach's tack, when the other witcher had come stomping out from under the trees.

"Thought I smelled a wolf," the newcomer said immediately.

Wide-eyed, startled, Jaskier had frozen--bent over, bedroll half laid out--before risking a glance at Geralt.

Geralt had his back to the other witcher, but Jaskier saw a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. He continued about his business, petting down Roach's flank. "Just now?" he asked. "Caught your scent three miles back."

"I'll have you know I bathed yesterday," the man quipped.

"At a whorehouse?" Geralt asked, turning, smirking, crossing his arms and leaning against Roach.

"In a noble manor, actually."

"Well that would explain the stench."

Jaskier looked back and forth between the two as he tried to make sense of the conversation.

Geralt only bantered when he felt safe, when someone wasn't perceived as a threat. That should have set Jaskier at ease, but there was unmistakable tension in the air, and he didn't know what to do with it.

The newcomer had dark hair, wore a red gambeson, black breeches, the customary two swords, and a medallion that matched Geralt's. He was scarred, as most witchers were, and had suffered a particularly vicious swipe down the right side of his face. Three long, ragged grooves trailed down from his temple, to his cheek, to his lips and chin. It appeared as though they hadn't been sewn up like they should have. Likely, this witcher didn't have his own travel companion to see to his injuries' proper care.

That thought instantly sent something soft through Jaskier.

Not all witchers were as well looked after as his.

"This is Eskel," Geralt said curtly, throwing a thumb over his shoulder as he turned back to pull the saddle from Roach's back.

"Also from the school of the wolf," Eskel said, coming fully into the camp and offering his hand to Jaskier.

Jaskier dropped the bedroll, took the proffered hand, surprised at the gesture. "Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Letten--"

"Jaskier," Eskel said. "The bard Geralt's always raving about."

Jaskier's mouth fell slightly agape.

Geralt shot the other witcher a look.

Jasker ducked his head, blushed, but didn't call Geralt out on the implications. It was enough to know Geralt missed him during the winters--enough to mention him to his brethren. "Presuming he doesn't have some other bard stashed away, yes, I suppose," he said.

"Would you be amenable to me joining your camp this evening?" Eskel asked--of _Jaskier_ , not Geralt.

"Yes, of course, please."

"I left my horse just over the ridge down the way, I'll be back."

"I was about to go gather us some firewood," Jaskier said quickly. He was intrigued by this polite witcher--and maybe just a tad curious as to what Geralt had told his brothers about him. "May I accompany you?"

Eskel looked to Geralt, who made no indication he was even paying attention to the conversation, then nodded.

As Jaskier followed Eskel into the woods, he was his usual chattering self, asking questions and pointing out unusual rock formations and fine little flowers. And Eskel, unexpectedly, responded. In more than just grunts and quick statements.

They _conversed_.

Jaskier tried not to die of shock.

It was _delightful_ to meet a chatty witcher. Especially one who seemed happy enough to indulge Jaskier in informative discussion.

"So how long have you and Geralt known each other?" he asked after they'd gathered Eskel's horse, Scorpion.

"Nearly since the beginning," he said. "We went through the trials together."

"Long time, then."

"He's the closest thing I have to a brother. Well, different, I suppose. Yeah. Different. We shared...a lot, growing up."

Jaskier wanted to press Eskel for more. It sounded like a riddle: _When is a brother not like a brother_? But, there was something in Eskel's tone--a wistfulness--that gave Jaskier pause. He didn't pry.

"And you?" Eskel asked. "How long has it been? I first started hearing that Toss a Coin song, what, fifteen years ago?"

"That sounds about right," Jaskier said. "Wrote that when I was eighteen, if you can believe it. Picked up my lute and started following him all over the Continent--like a stray pup, really. Still surprised, sometimes, that he lets me."

"Hmm," Eskel acknowledged thoughtfully.

It was a very _familiar_ sort of _hmm_.

Jaskier looked to the witcher, saw his nostrils flaring. The bard hoped his scent was at least somewhat neutral at the moment.

"He's fond of you," Eskel said.

Jaskier snorted. "He likes to pretend he's not fond of anything."

"Maybe we can get him to drop the act," Eskel said with a wink.

Jaskier looked at his feet, tried to school his expression, but he could feel a blush creeping into his cheeks again. He got the distinct impression this witcher was reading him like a book, and he didn't know how to feel about it. Usually _he_ was the one reading people, not the other way around.

Slowly, they gathered the wood. Eskel remained an excellent conversationalist, and, as they went, Jaskier found himself growing quite interested Eskel's other--er-- _assets_.

Like Geralt, Eskel was rather easy on the eyes, and Jaskier couldn't help the way his mouth went dry whenever the witcher bent over to retrieve a fallen piece of wood to add to the growing stack in Jaskier's arms.

Apparently, _magnificent backsides_ were a wolf-school family trait.

Honestly, if anyone else half as beautiful had wandered into their camp, Jaskier would have tried to bed him in an instant. But Jaskier did his best to put all thoughts of seducing Eskel aside. Even _he_ knew trying to sleep with Geralt's brother was crossing the line.

They returned to camp, and Geralt soon had a fire started. The three of them shared a meal, and Geralt and Eskel shared more banter while Jaskier laughed and strummed his lute.

The sun went down.

The stars came out.

They changed into sleeping attire--during which Jaskier took very ungentlemanly glances at his companions. Both men were broad, and well-toned. Eskel was barrel-chested beneath his gambeson, which _did things_ to Jaskier.

Both witchers donned loose trousers and their undershirts to bed. Jaskier wore a long sleeping shirt that didn't quite cover his knees, and nothing but his braies beneath.

The three men tucked themselves into their bedrolls.

And Jaskier drifted off to sleep.

#

Jaskier woke up shivering.

Gods, it was cold.

Not unbearably. His extremities weren't in danger of snapping off, but it was certainly unpleasant.

Perhaps it would have been a tad bit smarter to leave his trousers on for sleeping.

He rolled over to glance at the fire. The embers were still burning, but the flames had died down. He looked to where Eskel had laid out his bedroll and was surprised to find both the blankets and the witcher gone.

But his horse was still there, as were his swords and pack.

A light grunt from Geralt drew Jaskier's gaze in his direction.

Ah.

Seemed the witchers were cold as well. Eskel's bedroll had been opened fully, and was now draped over the top of Geralt's, and two heads peeked out from beneath.

And, clearly, they weren't asleep.

There was rustling.

"Missed you," Geralt rumbled.

There came a small--perhaps _surprised_ \--gasp. As though Eskel was startled by a touch. "Missed you too."

Their voices were rich, thick.

Hot and heady in a way Jaskier could only describe as _desirous_.

Then, unmistakably, the sounds of kissing. Wet, deep.

And Jaskier understood:

 _When is a brother not like a brother_?

 _When he was your first love_.

He lay there for long minutes, just listening. Every once in a while, one of them let out a low moan or an eager whimper.

And Jaskier found himself slowly getting hard.

The man he hungered for and his very handsome brother were currently engaged in a snogging session not two meters away. And all Jaskier could do was lie back and listen.

Gods, the world was absolutely _unfair_.

The gasps became rougher, the keening more needy. Jaskier's cock jumped at every sound. His hand flew to the bulge in his braies, but he could do little more than squeeze without worrying the movement would set off their witcher senses.

"Gods, how long has it been for you?" Eskel whispered.

"Too long. Been stuck out here in the woods with no relief."

"You haven't even touched yourself, have you?"

"Didn't want to risk it."

"Because of him?"

Jaskier couldn't hear all of Geralt's answer. It sounded something like, "take a chunk out of him," but that didn't make any sense.

"Fuck you're hard," Eskel moaned. "You this worked up just for me?"

"Yes."

"You sure?" Eskel asked slyly. "Just me?"

"Shut up. We gonna fuck, or what?"

Jaskier gasped.

The witchers stilled.

"Your bard is awake," Eskel said.

"Shit," Geralt spat. "And he's not _my_ bard."

"He is," Eskel insisted. "More than you know."

"No," Geralt said softly. "Believe me, I know. I _know_."

Jaskier bit his lip, cringing. Melitele's tits, why couldn't he have kept himself quiet?

"Jaskier?" Eskel called.

It seemed silly to pretend not to hear. They were witchers, after all. If they knew he was awake, there was no tricking them into thinking otherwise. "Y-" He had to clear this throat; it had gone tight. "Yes?"

"Bit chilly over there? By yourself?"

"No, _don't_ \--" Geralt whispered.

"Y-Yes?" Jaskier answered.

"Then why don't you come join us?"

Jaskier's breath caught in his chest.

Geralt made a small grunt of protest, and Jaskier tried not to let it crush his heart. "I don't think Geralt would like that," he said, trying to sound good-humored about it.

"Geralt _would_ like that," Eskel countered. "Which is exactly why he's being an arse about it. Come on."

Jaskier sat up, pulling his blanket tight around his shoulders. He openly stared at them in the dark, scrutinizing their silhouettes, trying to divine whether or not he was truly welcome. "I'd like to hear it from Geralt," he said, voice small, barely above a whisper.

While snuggling with Eskel--and perhaps _kissing_ Eskel--sounded lovely, Jaskier wasn't sure he could stand it if Geralt only tolerated--or even _resented_ \--his involvement. After all, if the wolves had reunited only a few weeks from now, they would be alone, and Geralt wouldn't have to worry about Jaskier stealing any of Eskel's attention.

He wouldn't have had to worry about Jaskier _at all_.

Jaskier knew Geralt caught him _looking_ sometimes. Knew, once in a while, the witcher scented him on the wind and identified the fragrance as _lust_ and _longing_. But Geralt had done nothing, said _nothing_ , and so Jaskier had always assumed that meant he didn't want to acknowledge it. Perhaps in order to protect Jaskier's feelings. No need to reject someone's affections if neither of you admit they exist.

"Geralt?" he asked when his witcher didn't respond right away. He hated how his voice shook, how dejected he sound.

"Come here," Geralt said after a brief pause, tone inscrutable.

Jaskier stood on wobbly legs, pulling his blanked with him, and padded barefoot the short distance around the fire to stand over the other two men.

Eskel, who was closest to him, threw back the blanket. "Slide in next to me, songbird."

Jaskier tossed his blanket onto the others, then did as he was told.

Geralt and Eskel were both rolled up on their sides, facing each other. Eskel had a leg hoisted up on Geralt's hip, and their groins were clearly pressed together. Carefully, Jaskier spooned up behind Eskel, daring to slip his chin over his shoulder and sling his arm over his middle.

"Mmm," Eskel said smugly, grinding his arse back into Jaskier's obvious erection. "Saw you looking, earlier," he teased.

"You made it difficult not to," Jaskier whispered back. "How... How long have you two...?" He had his suspicions, but he needed to know.

Eskel laughed. "Oh, from about the moment we discovered what our cocks were for."

Geralt was unnervingly quiet. Jaskier tried to find his eyes in the dark, but the bard's own hadn't adjusted yet. He couldn't make out Geralt's expression, but could feel he was still close--hadn't untangled himself from Eskel.

And yet he held himself statue-still.

"What has it been, sixty years since we started out on the path?" Eskel asked. "And still I haven't found anyone who kisses better than Geralt."

"Oh really?" Jaskier asked brightly, finding some of his usual confidence. "Shall we see if I can dethrone him?"

Eskel made a pleased little hum, then rolled away from Geralt, coming to lay flat on his back between the bard and his fellow wolf. "Let's," he said.

Eskel had rolled in such a way as to slip his thigh between Jaskier's legs, and now Geralt captured the other, bumping his knee against Jaskier's in the middle. It was a light, platonic touch, but somehow felt more sensual than the press of Jaskier's erection into Eskel's hip.

The bard did his best to focus on Eskel, and yet he couldn't ignore Geralt. He sensed the witcher's gaze boring into him, scrutinizing him.

Eskel slid a hand lightly around the back of Jaskier's head, encouraging him down.

And still, Jaskier hesitated.

He didn't want to come between Geralt and Eskel. He'd never forgive himself if he caused a rift in their relationship. What they had was old, well-worn, and clearly loving. He didn't want to intrude.

Eskel wasn't _his_ , he was Geralt's, and he didn't want to--

"Alright?" Eskel whispered.

Jaskier swallowed thickly. "I..."

"I'll be gentle," Eskel said.

Surprised, Jaskier let out a little huff of a laugh. That wasn't what he was worried about _at all,_ and yet Eskel's concern for him lay his other fears to rest.

Pushing everything else aside, he kissed Eskel lightly.

The witcher didn't hesitate to deepen the kiss.

He tasted earthy, rich. He tasted like the campfire, and river water.

And the kiss was, in fact, gentle. Jaskier could tell Eskel was restraining himself. There was a force that simmered just under his well-calculated movements. He had to work for his tenderness, his sensualness.

Still, he dominated the kiss, and it made fire pool in Jaskier's belly. His dick throbbed against Eskel's hip.

Geralt let out a soft gasp beside them, and--reminded of his presence--Jaskier couldn't stifle his moan. Here he was, kissing the lips that had just kissed Geralt's--likely the closest he'd ever come to kissing Geralt himself. He could have Eskel, and he could have this proximity to Geralt, and it was more than Jaskier had ever let himself hope for.

When Jaskier pulled back, he bit his lip. "How was that?" he asked, not feeling much like _Jaskier the famous lover_ at the moment, and more like _Julian the Viscount's son_ making out for the first time behind the stables.

In answer, Eskel pulled him down again.

This time, Jaskier kissed back with more confidence. And Eskel remained restrained, as though Jaskier was something delicate. Breakable.

Suddenly, Geralt shifted, and Jaskier broke the kiss, momentarily worried he'd overstepped--that Geralt was readying to do something about it.

But it seemed Geralt was simply irritated about the lack of attention. He rolled his hips against Eskel's side, rumbling deep in his chest as he petted a hand up Eskel's torso. Geralt's knee bumped against Jaskier's in a steady rhythm as he humped against Eskel, and it sent a thrill through Jaskier's groin.

The bard would hapily take what he could get from Geralt, even if it was just their knees touching. Every moment he allowed Jaskier to be here, with his beautiful brother between them, was a gift.

Eskel cupped one hand around Jaskier's jaw, ran the other up into Geralt's hair. "Didn't forget about you, wolf," he reassured him, pulling Geralt down.

Geralt descended like a predator swooping in from the sky. His kiss was heated and violent--there seemed to be as much biting as there was kissing. Eskel kissed back with a matched fierceness--that restraint he'd had while kissing Jaskier was gone. There came a sharp, swift cry from one of them, and Jaskier knew someone had drawn blood. But that didn't slow them down in the least.

The sight and the sounds made Jaskier's dick jump, and it was his turn to buck his hips at the lack of attention, to rub himself against Eskel as he watched the two wolves devour each other.

The scent of leather and sword oil was heavy beneath the blankets. It made Jaskier's mouth water and his groin ache for a hand or mouth.

Eskel broke the kiss, pulling Geralt up by his hair. "I know what you want," he said, breathless. "I know what you _need_ ," he amended, barely above a whisper. Geralt made a pained sound, tried to kiss his brother again, but Eskel held him away. "Stop denying yourself," he said. 

Eskel cupped Jaskier's face again, and, gently, he encouraged them both forward, to lean over him, to meet in the middle.

Jaskier blinked, wide-eyed, at Geralt, who was now mere inches away. So close he could feel his hot, heavy breath rolling out over his lips.

The bard started to tremble--he couldn't help it.

Geralt was so close.

Right there.

He was _right there_. All Jaskier had to do was be brave. And then maybe...maybe Geralt would let him...

"Kiss him," Eskel whispered.

It was difficult to say who the order was meant for.

Jaskier leaned forward tentatively, expecting Geralt to jerk back. Expecting to be denied.

But Geralt swayed forward.

Their lips barely brushed.

Jaskier's breath caught.

He grew bold, pressing forward, slotting his mouth firmly against Geralt's.

Geralt _whined_.

And Jaskier thought he must be dreaming.

Slowly, their lips began to move. The kiss was full, but chaste, and Jaskier's heart fluttered like a caged bird beneath his ribs.

He was kissing the White Wolf. And his wolf was _kissing back_.

Even if Geralt never gave him anything more, he could die a happy man.

"Good," Eskel said breathlessly as they kissed above him. He ran his fingers through their hair, petting, encouraging. "So good."

But, after a while, he got greedy. He twisted his fist in Jaskier's hair, yanking him back towards his own mouth.

The bard made a startled keening sound as he was torn away from Geralt--a sound immediately muffled by Eskel's eager lips. 

Instantly, Geralt growled. He only let a moment pass before pulling Jaskier back to him with a firm, _possessive_ hand around his neck.

Jaskier gasped, and Geralt's tongue darted into the bard's mouth--demanding, _claiming_.

Jaskier whimpered, his body sagging against Eskel's side, boneless.

There was nothing tentative about the way Geralt now ravished his mouth. All of his hesitancy had disappeared. He kissed with neediness, like his desire had been pent-up for _years_. It felt like a dam had been broken, and now Geralt's wantonness came flooding forth. 

The witcher pulled back for a moment to nip at Jaskier's lower lip, to run his tongue over the seam of his lips, before diving back in, overwhelming the bard. It was like a whirlwind. All Jaskier could do was hold on.

And then Geralt was pushing forward, pushing Jaskier _back_ , down--never breaking the kiss as he crawled over Eskel to lay himself flush on top of the bard.

Jaskier gasped when Geralt let his mouth go, when the witcher ducked his face into the hollow of his throat, ground his hips down, and rumbled, "Mine."

Jaskier's entire body tingled at the word, a wave of pleasure and longing washing through him.

Oh, _fuck_.

Fuck, where had all this come from?

Jaskier had been sending Geralt longing looks for over a decade; what was--? Why _now_?

Geralt thrust down harshly, pinning him, sliding their hard cocks together. He moved like a desperate man, caging Jaskier in with his arms, trapping the bard beneath him. His mouth roamed over his collar, his neck, his shoulder. He scraped his stubbled cheek along Jaskier's jaw and nuzzled into his ear.

Jaskier trembled, realizing how good and cornered he was. Geralt could take what he wanted. There was no denying him--no escaping, even if Jaskier tried--and Jaskier didn't want to.

A harsh, punched-out huff of air left him as Geralt gave a particularly unforgiving, _bruising_ thrust of his hips. Geralt's left hand came around to clutch at Jaskier's waist, to bunch his sleeping shirt in his fist, and Jaskier knew that at any moment, Geralt could rip his shirt in twain, could tear off all his clothes without a moment's difficulty.

Geralt tugged severely at the fabric. Seams popped.

Eskel rolled up on his side and whispered into Geralt's ear, "Careful, wolf."

Geralt stilled then, his passions tempered by Eskel's warning tone.

"He's just a man," Eskel said softly.

" _I know_ ," Geralt bit back, lifting his head, twisting toward his brother. "Why do you think I've kept myself from him all these years?"

Jaskier leaned up and kissed Geralt's cheek. "I'm fine," he whispered. " _I want this_ ," he assured him.

Geralt turned to him, captured his mouth again, entire body tense, as though he was barely holding himself back. "I don't want to hurt you," he said, leaning his forehead against Jaskier's.

"You won't hurt me," Jaskier said reassuringly.

"I might," Geralt insisted.

"Wolves," Eskel explained, "We tend to go a bit feral when we..." He trailed off.

"Fuck?" Jaskier supplied.

"Yes," Eskel said, as though embarrassed by Jaskier's bluntness. "When we fuck. Especially when..." he swallowed harshly. "When we're _desperate_ for it."

"It's been so difficult to control myself around you," Geralt told Jaskier. "All the times I've wanted to throw you down in the dirt, push you up against a tree, take you without a second thought..." He ducked down to scent Jaskier's neck, breathing deeply. "Fuck, you smell so good." His hips bucked again, as though he couldn't stop them. "And the whole time, knowing you were sitting there, on the other side of the fire or tavern table, _wanting me_..." His lips parted against Jaskier's throat, his teeth scraped along the skin. " _Wanting me_ ," he breathed again softly, dreamily. "But I couldn't let myself have you...break you..."

Slowly, he clamped his teeth over the tendons in Jaskier's neck, bit down firmly.

Jaskier shivered, cried out.

Eskel slid his hand into Geralt's hair, twisted his fingers in it, tugging warningly. "Gently. Be good to him."

Geralt whimpered.

It was a frustrated sound.

An _animalistic_ sound.

"No blood," Eskel directed. "You can't bite him the same way you bite me."

Geralt let Jaskier go, licked over the imprints of his teeth, while his hand snaked between their bodies, first to paw at Jaskier's erection, then to fumble at the buttons on his own trousers.

But Eskel pulled more firmly on Geralt's hair, halting him. "Did you _ask_?"

Geralt growled--dark, _threatening_.

Jaskier understood, now. _This_ was why Geralt had never let himself acknowledge their mutual desire. He hadn't trusted himself. Without Eskel there to mollify him, Geralt could easily eat Jaskier alive. Devour him whole.

"You ask humans nicely," Eskel said, voice soft and sensual.

"I want to touch your cock," Geralt rumbled into Jaskier's neck, the words falling swiftly from his lips. "I want you to touch _my_ cock."

Eskel yanked on his hair again.

"Please?" Geralt amended.

"Yes," Jaskier said breathlessly, wriggling his arms out from under Geralt to take hold of his witcher's face, to make him look up and meet his gaze. " _Please_ ," he added.

Now that his eyes had adjusted, Jaskier could make out more in the dark. Could tell that Geralt's cat-eyes were blown wide, his pupils dilated so far as to blot out the gold. And his expression was unfocused, wild. He saw Jaskier, but did not regard him as he did in daylight. There was pure want on his face, a bliss-filled desperation.

And that expression begged for a kiss.

Jaskier pulled him down to his mouth. He tried to work his lips slowly, to match the even-keeled tempo of Eskel's instructions.

But Geralt was having none of it.

He started to scramble again, plunging his tongue deep into Jaskier's mouth while raking his nails over their clothes like he'd forgotten how ties and buttons worked.

Eskel petted down his flank, cooed at him. "You don't have to rush, wolf, he's not going anywhere. Deep breath. Steady." 

" _I've wanted him for too long_ ," Geralt barked.

"All the more reason to behave yourself. Maybe... Maybe you should keep your clothes on tonight," he suggested.

" _But I_ need _him_ ," Geralt growled back.

"You just let yourself kiss him for the first time," Eskel replied soothingly. "Go slow. Humans go slow."

"Not all humans," Jaskier countered.

" _You_ be quiet, bard, I'm trying to make sure you can walk tomorrow. We're at least a day's ride from a healer. This is not the place to test his restraint."

" _But I_ need _him_ ," Jaskier echoed, voice far whinier than Geralt's.

"What you need is a lover who can be trusted not to snap you in half."

"He won't hurt me," Jaskier insisted, petting Geralt's hair. "He _won't_."

"No, he won't," Eskel agreed, "I'll see to that. Keep your pants on, wolf."

Suddenly, Geralt batted Eskel's hand off his back, sitting up on his knees, snarling.

He dove for his brother, shoving him down. Eskel grabbed hold of him in turn, and they rolled, tumbling out from under the blankets.

Startled, Jaskier sat up, holding the covers to his chest.

The two witchers scrabbled in the dirt, clearly battling for dominance.

"You invite him into _my_ _bed_ \--" Geralt barked incredulously.

The darkness made it difficult for Jaskier to discern who was who--who jabbed and who kicked, whose nails raked through the air and whose back bowed against the expanse of stars.

"--you make me give in and _kiss him_ \--"

A grunt, a thrown punch. The witchers tumbled again and again.

"--and then you tell me I _can't have him_?"

A thump, a heavy _oof_ , another kick and a spray of dirt.

"That's it," Eskel grunted. "If you need to be rough with someone, you take it out on me. You wanna fuck like a wolf, then you fuck a wolf."

The shapes rolled once more, until one witcher had the other pinned. Jaskier could only tell Eskel had won because of the silhouette of his hair. "We've got weeks before we have to go to Kaer Morhen," he said. "Plenty of time to teach you how to take your human without breaking him. Let me-- Let me take the edge off tonight. Let me _take you_."

"I want _him,_ " Geralt fumed.

"You'll _hurt him_. You'll never forgive yourself if you hurt him. If you wanna fuck, let's fuck. _Then_ I'll let you touch him."

Geralt growled again--a feral kind of snarl. 

Then there were arms flexing. Two sets of hands fumbling. Buttons popping.

Eskel rose up higher on his knees, pushed down his sleeping trousers.

Jaskier could just make out the lines of two cocks jutting out into the cool air.

_Fuck._

_Seven_ hells.

They were going to fuck right there in the dirt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yeah, this will be more than three chapters. Aiming for five now. Ugh, can you have a porn addiction where you're addicted to making it instead of consuming it? Asking for a me.

Eskel kicked his trousers off, and Geralt shoved his past his knees before Eskel settled back down on his brother's thighs. The moon started to clear the treetops, illuminating their forms, giving them a sensual, ethereal glow.

Eskel jutted his hips forward, and the witchers' cocks brushed in the moonlight.

Jaskier inhaled sharply. Shuffling, he pushed his sleeping shirt aside, slid his hand into his braies. His sac tightened at the first touch. _Fuck_ , he hadn't realized how on-edge he was.

"How we gonna do this, wolf?" Eskel asked, spitting in his hand and running it up Geralt's shaft. "Do you need a good dicking? Will that set you straight?"

Geralt moaned, threw his head back against the ground, exposing the beautiful line of his throat.

Jaskier's fist swept up and down his own cock with haste. He felt no shame in jerking himself while he watched them.

"Gods you're _so fucking hard_ ," Eskel sighed. "Seems a shame not to put this to good use. Want me to ride you?" he suggested, leaning down to bite at Geralt's lips, still stroking him.

Geralt grunted, huffed--apparently having been rendered completely nonverbal.

"You wanna give it to me hard? As hard as you'd like to give it to _him_?"

Geralt growled in answer, thrusting his hips up harshly, nearly bucking Eskel clean off.

Jaskier's eyes fluttered--knowing all that pent-up fierceness was because of _him_ was intoxicating.

The bard ran his thumb and forefinger just beneath the head of his crown. His foreskin was pulled taut, his glans fully exposed. As he gently worked himself, he felt a bead of precome burgeon at the tip, and he smoothed it across his skin, panting. He knew if he gripped himself too tightly, it would be over far too soon.

"Give me your hand, wolf," Eskel ordered, and when Geralt began to reach for Eskel's cock, the other witcher grabbed him by the wrist, yanking it around, back, to slide between Eskel's cheeks. "Feel that? White marble," he whispered, voice silky. "Reminds me of you."

Jaskier let a little, needy groan escape past his teeth.

Was Eskel--was Eskel wearing a _plug_?

Jaskier bit his lip hard, his hand slipping feather-light along his shaft.

Geralt kicked his heels in the dirt, thrashing beneath his brother. Eskel pushed him down by the shoulders, forced him still. "I'm gonna take this toy out, and them I'm gonna take you." He leaned down to kiss him again. "Oh _fuck_ , I've missed you," he added wistfully.

That seemed to soften Geralt slightly; he stretched out a gentle hand to paw at Eskel's chest, while Eskel lifted up on his knees and reached behind himself, wrenching the plug from his body in one stiff tug.

Jaskier swallowed thickly.

Gods, this was happening. This was _really_ happening.

Eskel wound a hand around Geralt's cock, then slowly-- _slowly_ \--sat down again.

Both witchers moaned.

There was only a brief pause before Eskel lashed out and took hold of Geralt's throat, squeezing tightly. Raising up, he slammed himself back down again. He gave himself no time to adjust.

Geralt's spine bowed against the ground, his heels slipped through the dirt again as he tried to get them under him, to find better leverage to thrust up. His hands flew to Eskel's waist, gripping with enough force to bruise as he viciously yanked his brother against him.

Eskel set a break-neck pace, and neither of them held back their grunts or groans, sounding for all the world like two wild animals. They fucked with _demand_ \--taking from each other, clawing their pleasure from one another's bodies. Eskel's cock bounced heavily between them, highlighted by the moonglow, and Geralt's disappeared again and again into Eskel's tight warmth.

Gods, they were gorgeous. 

Jaskier couldn't help but be jealous--of both of them.

He wanted that passion, that bruising touch. He wanted to be the focus of such heat.

Geralt's desperation had been for _him_.

Eskel's tenderness and concern had been for _him_.

Even as he stroked himself, giving his cock more attention than it had thus far received from either witcher, he wanted both of them _back_.

They fucked like that for long minutes, Eskel vigorously pounding himself into Geralt's lap, each downward cant of his hips jarring and exacting.

But it wasn't enough for Geralt.

Eventually he _roared_ \--frustrated--and sat up, slinging his arm around Eskel. With a mighty grunt he flipped them, taking control, claiming dominance.

Eskel's back hit the ground at force, driving a heavy _oof_ from his lungs. But instead of crying out or complaining about the rough treatment, he pawed at the dirt, rolling--untangling his legs from Geralt's so he could push himself over onto his belly. But Geralt kept coming at him, kept trying to force him to stay on his back.

Eskel was able to hold Geralt at bay just long enough to achieve the position he wanted, plastering himself face-down, arse-up.

A greedy sort of rumble reverberated through Geralt's chest as Eskel presented himself, and he gave Eskel only a moment to settle before slamming home again, rutting into him, slapping their hips together obscenely--the force of it pushing Eskel through the dirt, making him slide.

Jaskier's hand stilled on his cock, breath catching in his chest.

Eskel had been right: Jaskier was in no way prepared to take such a beating.

But, _oh, fuck_ how he wanted to.

Gods, to have Geralt pound into him like _that_. To have him ride his arse hard and fast and--

Jaskier squeezed the base of his shaft in an iron grip, just barely stopping himself from coming.

"That all you got?" Eskel urged, "Come on, wolf. _Fuck me_." He reached beneath himself, jerking his cock roughly, gasping with every punitive _snap_ of Geralt's hips.

A low, continuous growl emanated from Geralt as he gritted his teeth and set to pounding Eskel. A staccato rhythm of _slap slap slap_ rang out in the otherwise quiet night.

"Come in me," Eskel demanded. "Come inside me. _Now_."

It only took Geralt a few more thrusts before he followed through, bending to his brother's command.

Throwing his head back, Geralt bellowed as his orgasm over took him. He shoved himself deep into Eskel, circling his hips, pushing forward, making Eskel's back bow all the further.

Eskel continued to jerk himself until he, too, was spilling--onto the ground between his knees.

The two witchers shivered, then stilled, panting into the night air.

After a moment, Geralt leaned forward to kiss between Eskel's shoulder blades, to rest his forehead there while he caught his breath.

It was tender. Sweet.

Intimate.

For a moment, Jaskier wondered if they'd even come back to him.

Maybe they'd curl up together on the cold earth, just like the wolves they'd truly proven themselves to be.

Maybe he'd been forgotten.

But his worry was soon quelled.

With a pained sound, Geralt slipped out of Eskel, and Eskel rolled away from the wet spot beneath him. Geralt stood, his legs somewhat shaky, pulled up his trousers, and stumbled back to their pile of bedrolls and blankets--breath still coming high and fast. He dropped down on his knees beside the bed, staring at Jaskier.

Jaskier, with his hand still on his cock, stared back.

Geralt looked so fucking delicious--hair mussed, face flushed, eyes dark. And, gods, Jaskier could smell the sex on him. It took everything Jaskier had not to throw himself into Geralt's lap.

"I'm sorry," Geralt panted, "If I scared you."

"You never scare me," Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt snorted. "Liar," he said, a smile evident in his tone.

"Never," Jaskier insisted.

Geralt reached out for him, pulled him close, kissed him deeply. It was much less demanding than before, but no less passionate. Less wanton and uncontrollable, but it felt more _meaningful_.

Jaskier let go of his cock in favor of wrapping his arms around Geralt's shoulders.

"There, see," Eskel said breathlessly, coming up to stand beside them. "Took the edge off him. Now he can be soft for you." He whipped his nightshirt over his head--which left him completely bare--and used it to sop up the spend running down his thighs.

"You two were beautiful together, in the moonlight," Jaskier told them. "And when you _came_ \--"

"Mmm," Geralt acknowledged before leaning in to kiss him again. "I want to make you come, too," he said earnestly.

"Will you...will you fuck me?" Jaskier asked tentatively.

Geralt looked to Eskel, his brows bowed in a quiet plea. But Eskel shook his head. "Not tonight," he said, putting a reassuring hand on Geralt's shoulder. "But there are other ways to please your human."

Geralt touched his brother's hand in a gesture of understanding and comradery, before leaning back and whipping his shirt off as well. He then stood and rounded to the fire-facing side of the bedroll to slide back under the blankets next to Jaskier, wrapping him in his arms. "Will you let me suck your cock?" he asked solemnly, as though afraid even that request was pushing too far.

"Only if Eskel helps," Jaskier said, half joking.

"Don't have to ask me twice," Eskel said, ducking back under the covers on Jaskier's other side.

Instantly, both witchers began rucking up his nightshirt, pushing it up to expose his pecs. They both leaned in to kiss his chest, to suck at his nipples, together peppering his skin with little nips of affection as they shuffled down his body.

Jaskier was dumbfounded. "You're not-- _You're not kidding_ ," he gasped.

"This work for you?" Eskel asked him as they each hooked a thumb into the hem of his braies.

" _Yes_. Gods, yes."

Humming their delight, the witchers slid lower, taking his smallclothes with them.

As soon as his dick was exposed, two tongues licked long stripes up his shaft.

" _Fuck_ ," he cried, hands flying down to tangle boldly in both dark and light hair. "You're _really_ not kidding."

They both chuckled, the bastards.


	3. Chapter 3

Two sets of lips kissed up Jaskier's length. Then each hot mouth took a turn enveloping his cockhead, suckling lightly at the tip, wetting it. They let themselves drool, let spit roll down his shaft, and his cock _throbbed_ as they let their breath ghost over the wetness.

His fingers flexed and unflexed in their hair, trying not to tug too harshly, trying to keep his hips from bucking. He wanted to pull, wanted to wrench, but kept as still and steady as he could.

Geralt's hand went to his in his hair. "You can be rough with us," Geralt reassured him. "We just have to remember to be gentle with you."

Eskel hummed his agreement, ducking down to mouth at Jaskier's balls.

Geralt spat in his hand and jerked Jaskier once, twice, before lowering his mouth down slowly over him, taking his full length and pressing his nose into his pubic hair.

Jaskier's cock flexed in Geralt's throat, sending a blissful zing of pleasure through his groin. He whimpered, tried to breathe deeply, though it came out in great gasps. He could still hardly believe this was real--that Geralt was touching him, tasting him, _pleasuring_ him.

And Eskel--

Gods, _Eskel_.

What had Jaskier done to deserve a second wonderful witcher in his life? One so generous with his affections, his protections. So giving to and of his lovers.

Experimentally, Jaskier angled his hips upward, thrusting lightly. Geralt smoothed a big hand over his stomach, splaying it over his belly--not to hold him down, just to touch him--and Eskel's palm slipped between his thighs, stroking the seam of his hip. He bucked again, and Eskel moaned while Geralt _took it_.

"Give it to him, songbird," Eskel urged, lips brushing against the skin of Jaskier's leg. He kissed him lightly there, then licked up the inside of his thigh. "He wants it."

Jaskier wrapped long strands of Geralt's hair around his fist, jerked him up ward, then pushed him back down.

Geralt shuddered.

Jaskier did it again, with more force. More demand.

Geralt straddle Jaskier's leg, catching it between his muscular thighs and pressing his hips down.

The bard groaned, realizing Geralt was already hard again.

Gods, he wanted his cock. He wanted Geralt to hold him down and fill him up.

He'd fantasized about it so many times, in so many ways. His imaginary Geralt had taken him tenderly, and forcefully, and sweetly, and even begrudgingly. Imaginary Geralt had taken Jaskier just because he was horny, or just because Jaskier had begged, or just because...because he loved him.

Jaskier shook himself, putting that particular fantasy out of his mind.

But he'd never imagined Geralt quite like this--this mad for it. Literally _gagging_ for it.

The witcher let Jaskier fuck his mouth for a few minutes more before pulling off with a slurp to grab Eskel, to force him down on Jaskier's cock in turn--just as harshly, as firmly.

Some of that feral spark was returning. Geralt's movements were becoming less calculated, less measured.

He held Eskel down on Jaskier's cock, and Jaskier bucked up into Eskel's wet heat just the same as he had with Geralt.

Both witchers purred.

Everything between Jaskier's legs was hot, and wet, and tingly.

Soon, Geralt was on him again, pushing Eskel away, impatient, unable to wait his turn. Eskel shoved him right back, and then they both had their mouths on him again, their tongues laving over his shaft, occasionally licking out into each other's mouths instead.

He watched them kiss over and around his cock and felt like he was floating out of himself. It was all too good. Too slick, too perfect.

And then Eskel popped his own middle finger into Geralt's mouth, pressing down on his tongue, making him slobber. When it was sufficiently drenched, Eskel reached under to press his wet digit behind Jaskier's balls, at his entrance.

Jaskier gasped and bore down, waiting to be breached.

But Eskel never slipped inside. Just circled, just teased.

Just promised.

_Not tonight._

_But soon_.

Hopefully soon.

Geralt rolled his hips against Jaskier's leg, surging forward to tongue around the crown of his bard's cock.

Fuck.

 _Fuuuuuuuck_.

"I'm gonna--Gods, I'm so close," he warned them.

Geralt's answering moan was dire.

The White Wolf's eyes rolled back, his eyelashes fluttering. His whole body vibrated, and he lifted his hips away from Jaskier, pushing up on his knees. Flailing out, took hold of Eskel's wrist, stopping his tease. "Fuck me," he demanded.

Eskel opened his mouth as if to protest, but Geralt yanked him forward by the wrist until their lips collided. "Fuck me, or I won't be able to...to stop...to stop myself from--"

"Don't stop," Jaskier whispered, half out of his mind with pleasure. "Don't stop."

" _I want him_ ," Geralt growled desperately into Eskel's mouth. He sounded _pained_. "I can't, I need--"

"Shh," Eskel hushed him, pushing Geralt away just enough so he could get up and shuffle into position behind his brother. He sat up straight on his knees, and the blankets settled over his shoulders like a grand cloak. "I've got you." He slid Geralt's loose trousers down over his backside once more, though he kept his cock trapped.

The white-haired witcher let out a shaking sigh which was one-part anguish, one-part relief.

"Put your mouth back on him," Eskel ordered gently.

Lips gone lax, Geralt rubbed them wetly against Jaskier's shaft, more nuzzling than sucking. Jaskier's hand went to Geralt's hair again, and the witcher looked at him with half-lidded eyes.

"I want you," Geralt said in the lightest whisper, before turning it into a mantra as Eskel spit into his hand and began fingering Geralt. " _I want you I want you I want you_."

Jaskier bit his lip, felt his face contort. He threw back his head, unable to hold Geralt's fevered gaze.

This was torture. Pure torment. After all these years, Geralt wanted him back, wanted him with a passion. With a sort of hunger that clearly could not be quelled by the touch of another. It was intense, and sublime, and the fact that they could not bridge that final gap--not yet--made him want to scream.

Geralt jerked forward as Eskel pushed into him with his cock. His brother gave him two shallow thrusts before brutally slamming in to the hilt.

Everything about the way the witchers took each other would have been too much for Jaskier--too soon, too dry, too deep, too rough.

But clearly it was what Geralt wanted.

He buried his face in Jaskier's groin, at the base of his cock, and simply grunted for a few moments as Eskel set the pace.

"Don't hide from each other," Eskel said, raking his nails down Geralt's spine, making him hiss and lift his head. "Put your mouth back on him and make him come."

Shaking, bouncing each time Eskel's hips met his, Geralt did as he was told, taking only the first few inches past his lips.

"Look at him," Eskel instructed Jaskier. "Watch him suck you off."

It was so easy to listen to Eskel. The way he could be gruff, kind, and erotic all at the same time made Jaskier want to obey him, to please him.

The bard lifted his head, met Geralt's stare.

The utter longing he saw there stole his breath away.

As Geralt sank down over him again, deepthroating him once more, Jaskier's orgasm overtook him. He gritted his teeth, groaned, as his belly and his sac pulled taut, his dick flexed, and he flooded Geralt's mouth.

It was a struggle to keep his eyes open through the bliss, through the reverberations of pleasure that pulsed through him.

The witcher swallowed his spend without a pause, holding Jaskier's cock in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, sucking firmly.

"Just insatiable, aren't you, wolf?" Eskel breathed, picking up his pace as soon as Geralt let go of Jaskier with a slurp. "Need me to fill you up? Come all deep inside you?"

Sex-dazed, Geralt nodded frantically, mouth hanging open.

Jaskier, still hazy and tingly from his orgasm, couldn't resist--he sat up and hooked his thumb in Geralt's mouth, giving him something to keep sucking on. The witcher took it eagerly, humming in satisfaction, eyes falling closed.

"You gonna come again for us?" Eskel asked Geralt.

Geralt grunted.

"Gonna make your trousers all messy?"

Jaskier's heart fluttered, and he opened his mouth before he could think. " _No_ ," he said firmly.

Both witchers' eyes snapped to his with vehement attention.

He released Geralt and lay back again, wiggling himself under the pair, making them widen their stances until they were both straddling over his abdomen, hanging barely a few centimeters over his body.

Eskel never ceased his thrusting.

Now, Jaskier and Geralt were face to face. The witcher leaned down to kiss him, but Jaskier stopped him, cupping his jaw and hooking his thumb in his mouth again, making him turn his head to the side and lean further until his cheek was pressed to Jaskier's shoulder. The bard cradled his head, held him close.

Geralt let out a deep, shuddering breath.

"Make him come on me," Jaskier told Eskel, voice airy.

Geralt's entire body seized at his words, went tight.

Eskel barely had time to rip Geralt's trousers down over his cock--letting it bob free--before Geralt let out a rough shout, painting Jaskier's stomach.

The White Wolf bucked between them, his orgasm wracking his body in violent bursts. Both Eskel and Jaskier clung to him, and soon the dark-haired witcher was tumbling after, barking out his own pleasure.

Slowly, eventually, Eskel stopped thrusting.

Heavy breathing filled the night air.

All else was quiet.

After a few moments of stillness, Eskel pulled out and flopped over onto his back beside Jaskier. The bard expected Geralt to do the same on his other side, but instead he shimmied himself down to lay between Jaskier's legs, and began to lick his stomach clean.

Geralt's tongue was gentle, unhurried. He held Jaskier's hips in both of his big hands, but did not grip too tightly.

Exhausted, Jaskier petted Geralt's head, and felt Eskel watching--ever attentive--at his side.

When he was finished, Geralt simply lay his head on Jaskier's stomach, and, still clutching at him, quickly fell asleep.

Jaskier still dragged his fingers lightly through his witcher's locks. He could not remember a time or a place Geralt had fallen asleep before him.

Eskel's hand alighted on Jaskier's shoulder, and the bard looked to him. "Was it too much?" Eskel asked.

He smiled dreamily. "No. It was perfect. You're perfect."

Eskel pecked him lightly on the lips.

"Thank you," Jaskier said, voice quavering with emotion though he tried hard to keep his words light. "For..." he trialed off, making a small, all-encompassing gesture with his free hand. 

Eskel gave a little shrug. "I told you he was fond of you. I just gave him a way to feel safe, to not be afraid of himself around you. We'll teach him to cool, to touch you without bruising you. So that when you two are alone again--"

Careful not to jostle Geralt, Jaskier surged forward to cut Eskel off with a kiss. He cupped his jaw firmly, drawing it out, making it count.

"What was that for?" Eskel asked when they broke apart again.

"Don't want you to think I'm in any rush to be rid of you," Jaskier said softly.

Eskel hummed appreciatively. "Geralt's awfully lucky to have found you, songbird."

"I think I'm the lucky one here," Jaskier countered, shifting slightly to pillow his head against Eskel's shoulder, still petting through Geralt's hair.

Jaskier was warm, drowsy. Safe and sated.

It wasn't long before a deep sleep took him as well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> US elections have me breathing a sigh of relief today--finally gave me the brain space to edit this chapter.

The next morning, Jaskier woke to the soft sensation of lazy kitten licks lavished across his belly. His shoulders were half-pinned by a sleeping Eskel--who was face-down at his side with an arm slung over Jaskier's chest--so he could barely lift his head and the edge of the blanket to make out Geralt, where he still lay between the bard's legs.

Geralt appeared to still be unconscious, his tongue darting out in his sleep as he nuzzled deeper into whatever dream he was having.

It was...

Cute.

Jaskier immediately chided himself. _No, no, no, I am a poet. What kind of word is_ cute _for_ Geralt?

Charming, perhaps.

Disarming, for certain.

Alluring, sure.

And the kitten licks weren't just adorable, but a tad... _erotic_ as well. If the sudden heat in his groin and the throbbing in his cock were any indication, that is.

_Sweet Melitele, who wouldn't get instantly hard waking up to find the White Wolf between their thighs?_

His heart thumped heavily as blood rushed to his nether regions, and he tried not to squirm.

Geralt's nostrils flared, picking up the scent of Jaskier's arousal even in his sleep. He nuzzled more firmly into Jaskier's stomach, scraping his stubbled chin and cheeks along Jaskier's sensitive skin--which did absolutely nothing to discourage Jaskier's erection. The thing was about to start jabbing Geralt somewhere-abouts his collarbone any moment now.

Geralt rumbled deep in his chest. An unconscious sort of _purr_.

Next to Jaskier, Eskel stirred.

If the bard had to guess, he'd say Eskel could smell him as well.

Geralt shifted lower, his open mouth unconsciously grazing over the top of Jaskier's pubic hair.

That was it--the bard was lost. He slid his hand into Geralt's hair and groaned.

Instantly, Geralt's head snapped up, eyes wide open, bright. Gaze _predatory_. One of his hands came up to clutch at Jaskier's thigh, to dig his claws deep into the muscle. He opened his mouth, bared his teeth.

Jaskier's breath caught in his chest.

Eskel shot up like a bolt. He flung his arm way from Jaskier's chest and pointed firmly at Geralt. Hurriedly, he drew a sign in the air and barked, "Go back to sleep, wolf."

Geralt's eyes unfocused, a faint haze appeared around his head, and he slumped over--flopping face-first against Jaskier's belly once more.

"Hey, what did you do that for?" Jaskier asked.

"Just a precaution," Eskel said sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "We'll give him a chance to come fully back to himself _without_ you naked beneath him. Safer that way."

"I've been traveling with him for years, I trust him with my life," Jaskier insisted.

"And I trust him with mine," Eskel replied. "It's _not_ that I don't trust him--you have to understand that. It's that I _know_ him." He sighed heavily, flopping onto his back. "I miscalculated last night. I thought if he let himself kiss you, he'd see he had nothing to fear. But he couldn't temper himself. He'd been holding back for so long...

"It's not that I think he'll injure you. Not in a lasting way. But, one wrong move and he hurts you even a little--causes some minor pain, even something that'll be right as rain in a few days--and it's over. He'll never trust himself to touch you like that again. Because it's _Geralt_ , and he's got a history."

Jaskier wrinkled his nose. "A history? Of being quick to violence you mean? I can bear it--I've had a bruise or two by his hand. He gave me one hell of a gut punch the very first day I tagged along on--"

"This is different," Eskel said firmly. "That punch was _meant_ to scare you away. We’re supposed to discourage people from following us on hunts, any way we can. And any bruises he might have given you since... Am I correct in assuming you collected them while he was more or less pushing you to safety? Protecting you from some larger threat?"

"Yes."

"See, different. Very different. If he hurts you while sharing his _affections_ , to him, it'll mean he hurt you because he was _selfish_. Because he let himself give in to his desire for something witchers are never supposed to want, let alone have. He's let his desire for someone cloud his good judgment before, and it left a lasting impression."

Jaskier wasn't sure what Eskel was talking about. "He's had sex with humans before, and they've walked away just fine," he said. "We've visited brothels together, and an adventurous villager or two has spent the night with him, so it's not as though he's never shared his _affections_ with someone more...fragile...than a witcher."

Eskel shook his head, ran his hand over his face. "And here I thought artists were supposed to understand nuance."

Jaskier frowned, offended, "Hey--"

"Surely you've heard him complain about how some people just want to fuck monsters?"

Jaskier shrugged.

"So, what does he care if he proves as monstrous in bed as they want him to be?" Eskel said. "You know witchers have to pay extra in most brothels, don't you?"

"Because the people running those flea-ridden establishments are prejudiced pricks."

"Sometimes. Most times, it's just hazard pay."

Jaskier's frown deepened.

"Not every witcher is Geralt. Not every witcher is me," Eskel said. "Witchers have reputations for reasons. Sure, some of it comes down to prejudice. Some comes down to exaggeration. For example, witchers stealing kids? Sure, when the schools were still building witchers, they got their new recruits through the Law of Surprise. But that's not exactly _not_ stealing kids, now is it?"

"Where are you going with this?" Jaskier demanded.

"Witchers, we understand ourselves. We can kill a man with our bare hands without breaking a sweat, without batting an eye. We were _built_ to hurt things. That's not me being morbid or morose, that's a fact. Some of us cope with that fact better than others."

"How do you cope with it?"

"By training myself to be gentle whenever I can. By taking care of things. I've even got a pet back at Kaer Morhen."

Jaskier smiled. "A witcher with a pet?"

"Pet goat," Eskel said, then shrugged a little. "Sure, I use 'im as bait once in a while, but not a hair on his head has ever come to harm."

"And...how does Geralt cope?" Jaksier asked carefully.

Eskel smiled. "Well, he likes to pretend he doesn't have to. That he's as straight forward a witcher as was ever made--cold, calculating, uncomplicated. But, strangest thing, he lets this flowery nuisance of a bard follow him around..."

" _I'm_ Geralt's coping mechanism?"

"He doesn't know how to relate to people; they think he's scary, so he thinks he's scary, so he acts scary, so they keep thinking he's scary. It's a terrible feedback loop. But he's found a way to relate to _you_ , and you relate to _them_. You're his companion, and his window into another world. While he seems monstrous to them, he never seems monstrous to you, right?"

"Of course not. Never."

"Then you have to understand how unleashing his desires on you could change that--in his mind, even if not in yours. He wants you so much--he wants you like a wolf witcher wants another wolf. He can force himself to be only semi-himself when he beds other humans because he's emotionally detached from those encounters. But he can't be detached with you. He can't hide his true nature from you."

Jaskier gently petted Geralt's head. "I don't...I don't want him to hide it from me. I'm not breakable. I'm not."

"You _are_ ," Eskel said firmly. "You might be happy to wear his bruises, but he will hate himself for them. Because you... You make him feel human Jaskier, you have to understand that. And if he hurts you, it's proof he's not. He's tried to construct these kinds of bridges back to his own humanity before and failed. When that happened, his ability to cope with his place in the world _weakened_. And then he met you. All these years, he hasn't wanted to risk collapsing what you've built together."

Perhaps it should feel like a burden--this weight Eskel was placing on him. _No, not placing_ , he realized, _just revealing_. The suggestion that he was responsible for how Geralt saw himself _should_ feel unfair, except... Except Jaskier had cast himself in that role from day one. He'd told Geralt he would make it his mission to change the way people saw him. Why wouldn't that change in perspective also apply to Geralt himself?

"You see him as a person," Eskel said softly. "You see him. Really _him_. Which allows him to better see himself. That's a rare thing for a witcher."

Jaskier looked away from Eskel, to the mass of white hair fanned out across his belly. His eyes felt hot, his throat tight. "It's not just lust and friendship between us, is it?" he asked softly.

"Not for him," Eskel said. "And I know you love him, but if you don't...if you don't love him _like that_ , please, _please_ don't tell him, because I don't think he'd be able--"

Jaskier blinked back the sudden fogginess in his eyes, shook his head. "Of course I love him," he said, voice wavering. "Like _that_. I love him like... I mean... I'm _in_ love with him."

Gods, he'd never said it out loud before.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "All these years I thought I was a stupid pining idiot, and now you're telling me..."

Jaskier didn't finish the thought, and Eskel let the silence stretch.

"All we have to do is cure him of his fear," the witcher said after a time. "And we do that by making sure he feels comfortable _after_ he's touched you. By building in enough of a history so that when he does fully break and go monstrous on you, you're both prepared to handle the aftermath. I don't want him to run away from you. I don't want him to run away from himself."

"Did you ever study at Oxenfurt?" Jaskier asked suddenly.

Eskel shot him a confused look. "No... Why?"

"You've got better insights into the psyche than most professors of the mind."

Eskel shook his head. "Nah, I just know my wolves."

"You figured me out fairly quickly," Jaskier countered.

Eskel looked away. "Let's just say I've watched a human fall for a witcher before."

"I take it that story doesn't have a happy ending."

"Better than most involving a witcher." He tried for a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "She was a sweet enough woman, but truth is, I just didn't feel the same, and I wasn't about to let her pine after me."

"What happened to her?" Jaskier asked. "Tell me you know what happened."

"I do. She went and apprenticed with a dwarven blacksmith. Became a master of her craft. Believe me, she's happier than she ever would have been following someone who cared for her, but couldn't care _enough_."

Geralt grumbled softly in his Axii-induced sleep.

"Come on, let's get you up and dressed," Eskel said. "He'll be about as pleasant as a grave hag if we don't get on the road soon."

"True enough."

#

The trio continued to travel together as they made for Novigrad.

Happily, very little changed during the day. Jaskier's relationship with Geralt felt more or less as it always had--companionable, if rough around the edges. But Geralt _did_ seem quicker to smile, and a long-standing tension had bled out of him. Whether it was because of Eskel's easy and commanding presence, or because Geralt had finally admitted to the attraction he'd so readily fought, it was difficult to say.

But there was one large, perceptible difference for Jaskier.

Now, Geralt physically distanced himself.

Jaskier was used to Geralt giving him space, that wasn't unusual per se. While Jaskier had always been liberal with his casual touches, Geralt had rarely laid an unnecessary finger on the bard. But now, where normally Geralt might have maintained a foot or two between them while walking, Geralt insisted on five. When the trio stopped to discuss something, and Geralt turned to speak to Jaskier, more often than not he took a pointed step back before beginning. Where normally Geralt would casually pass Jaskier a waterskin or a portion of jerky, now he used Eskel as a go-between.

Jaskier wasn't offended. His talk with Eskel had given him plenty of extra insight into why Geralt was the way he was. Why he did the things he did.

Now that the door Geralt had so carefully barred had been blown wide open, the witcher was doing his best not to sweep right through it. The distance was a leash he'd put on himself, a way to maintain normalcy.

Because when he didn't consciously uphold that buffer...

One afternoon--three days after that first fateful night--Geralt was rummaging around in Roach's saddle bags, digging out provisions, when Jaskier quite casually asked for an apple.

Without thinking, Geralt pilfered one from the bag and turned, holding it out for the bard to take.

Jaskier's hand fell over Geralt's as he reached for the offered fruit. Their fingers brushed softly. Briefly. 

The touch was electric.

Geralt's hand was warm, but his gaze _burned_.

In a flash, the witcher entwined their fingers, yanking Jaskier to him-- _against_ him.

The apple fell to the ground, forgotten.

The White Wolf's hold was demanding, fierce. It made Jaskier's stomach flutter and head feel light. The bard let himself be pulled--nearly off his feet--bowing against Geralt as though melting into him.

Geralt's other arm swooped around Jaskier's waist, keeping him close--stealing his breath away.

Where Geralt had been casual a moment before--rummaging through their food stores with all the passion of a damp log--now his jaw clenched and his heart thumped heavily. Jaskier could feel it beating against his own chest. The witcher's expression was needy, desperate, and his hold on Jaskier's hand tightened to near-painful.

Geralt stared eagerly into Jaskier's eyes, a question clearly poised on his lips.

Before he could breathe a word, Eskel walked by, purposefully knocking into Geralt--bumping him harshly with his shoulder.

Geralt jerked, blinked. Came back to himself.

"You dropped something," Eskel said lightly.

With a huff, Geralt let Jaskier go and scooped up the apple, wiping it clean before gingerly offering it to his bard again, balancing the fruit on the very tips of his fingers.

Jaskier was careful to pluck it from his grasp without touching him. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Gritting his teeth--clearly cursing himself--Geralt turned back to his task.

Jaskier wanted to say something, to kiss him and reassure him that he'd done nothing wrong.

But he looked to Eskel, and the other witcher shook his head.

Jaskier understood.

The bard might be the one that was breakable, but it was _Geralt_ who was fragile here.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This keeps getting angstier. And has officially lost its right to the plot-what-plot tag, so I've removed it.
> 
> Chapter specific CWs (a little spoilery): Jaskier gets his air cut off very briefly, but he's okay about it. Geralt, on the other hand, has a bit of a drop.

Despite what Eskel tried to pound into him, Jaskier still didn't think of himself as breakable. Mostly because he _wasn't_. Not by human standards, not in the least.

He was as tall as Geralt, and nearly as broad. He might not have possessed the same bulk--the same kind of meat on his bones--but he certainly wasn't lacking in terms of tone and stamina. He had to kept up with a man on horseback day in and day out, after all. He wouldn't have been able to do that if he if he'd been some delicate waif.

He could tussle--had won a bar fight or two in the last year alone--and had been taught fencing, fishing, and bow-hunting from the time he was a small lad on.

True, he generally liked to avoid pain and injury. More so than your average roadside bandit or zealous soldier, but less so than many of his noble counterparts. If he'd wanted to live a life of plush bedding and rich foods, then he certainly wouldn't have chosen a path that meant constant camping and sparse, under-seasoned game.

He liked adventure, liked danger, and was plenty accustomed to the aches and pains that went along with a life on the road.

But, compared to a witcher...

Compared to a witcher.

That was it, wasn't it?

He could have been the biggest, baddest, non-chaos wielding mortal on either side of the Pontar, and still, Geralt could have broken him.

But he _wouldn't_. No matter how feral Geralt got, Jaskier was positive he'd never push far enough to break Jaskier--or to break what they had. He wasn't capable of the kinds of things that would truly strike fear into Jaskeir and change the way he saw his witcher.

Jaskier knew that. It sounded, even, like Eskel knew that.

It was Geralt who didn't.

And so, every night, when they climbed into each other's bed rolls, Jaskier held his breath. And, every night, Geralt came at Jaskier hard and hungry before Eskel calmed him. The dark-haired witcher would let the White Wolf frot against Jaskier, or suck his cock, or jerk him off, but he never allowed him to penetrate Jaskier. Not with his fingers, not with his cock. Not in his mouth, and certainly not in his bum.

And Geralt _whined_. Oh, how he wordlessly complained, making the saddest, most desperate sounds as he was denied what he wanted over and over again.

Tonight--their sixth, which marked the halfway point to Novigrad--Jaskier lay on his back, naked, with his legs spread over Geralt's clothed thighs. Eskel had instructed Geralt to take up the position he usually reserved for meditating, in hopes it would help him center himself. But the moment Jaskier was in his lap, his pupils had blown wide and he'd gone straight to probing at Jaskier's entrance.

Eskel wrenched Geralt's arm behind his back, claiming the hand that had dipped between the bard's legs.

Geralt growled and tried to throw him off, but Eskel held him firmly. "You've got to earn it, wolf," he said. "You're being too rough. You'll mark him."

"You think my ego so delicate?" Geralt snarled. "That I can't handle seeing a few blemishes where--?"

"I'm trying make this as easy as I can for you."

"I don't need to be gentled."

"Don't you?"

" _No_."

"Eskel, he's fine. I'm alright."

Eskel--still fully dressed himself--looked skeptical. But when Jaskier again insisted he was fine, he nodded and let Geralt's arm go.

Immediately, Geralt curled forward, descending on Jaskier with a hungry force. His hand returned to its exploration, just rubbing at his entrance, not pushing in, just petting, teasing. His lips went to Jaskier's left pec, and he mouthed at it before scraping his teeth across the bard's nipple and latching on.

Jaskier arched up and moaned. Gods, why did Geralt's wild touch have to feel so good? He wanted to egg him on, to demand his feralness come to the surface.

 _Later_ , he promised himself _. In the future. One day. One day when Geralt's not afraid_.

As it was, the bard's moan elicited an echoing growl from Geralt, and the witcher's free hand shot up to clutch at Jaskier's throat. Jaskier pressed his own palm over it, demanding more pressure, a tighter squeeze.

The fingers on his neck went rigid, curling into claws. Geralt's nails dug into his skin like talons, and the pressure became crushing.

Jaskier lost his air.

He could feel his pulse rabbiting against Geralt's grip.

He tried to suck in an impossible breath as the skin beneath Gerlat's nails gave-- _ripped_.

The punctures stung.

He patted at the back of Geralt's hand to get his attention. Not frantically. There was no panic. He just needed him to relax his grip again.

Geralt _had_ pushed a tad too far, yes. But it was fine. Even human lovers crossed the line sometimes. Nothing to be ashamed of, no reason to stop. No reason to--

But Geralt sat up, yanking his hand free in a flash. "Wha--?" His eyes widened, horrified. He looked at Jaskier's neck, then at his fingers. The very tips of his nails were stained red.

"Geralt--" Eskel said quickly. Not an admonishment, an entreaty. He knew what was about to happen. What Geralt was about to do.

The two witchers looked at each other--Eskel's expression was filled with worry, while Geralt's was thoroughly haunted.

" _Renfri_ ," Geralt hissed through his teeth.

"I know," Eskel said, "But, Geralt--"

The White Wolf tossed his head, shoving Jaskier's legs off his lap, standing, striding away.

Eskel tried to stop him--caught his wrist, but ultimately let it slip through his fingers, let Geralt stomp off, barefooted, into the night.

"Geralt?" Jaskier sat up, blinking after him, dumbfounded. A hot droplet of something ran down his throat. He wiped at it with his hand, and his fingers came away red.

He couldn't quite grasp what had just happened.

Of all the names to fall from Geralt's lips...

"Do I need to explain about Renfri?" Eskel asked quietly.

"Yes--I mean, _no_. I know who she was, what happened in Blaviken but I don't understand--"

"Did he ever tell you about what happened in the woods _outside_ Blaviken? The night before?"

"No, what happened?"

"When I said he had a history of his intimacies going awry..."

Jaskier let the puzzle pieces fall into place.

His heart sank.

"Oh. Oh _shit_." He shook his head in disbelief, swallowed harshly. "He never said they'd... I didn't... Remember I told you he punched me? The day I met him?" Eskel nodded, and Jaskier ran a guiltily hand over his face, took a shuddering breath. "It was right after I'd quite excitedly called him The Butcher of Blaviken."

"Oh."

"Yeah: _Oh_."

He acutely understood Geralt's fragility now. Gods, why hadn't he done a better job pulling more specifics out of Eskel? If he'd known _this_ was what they were up against... "Fuck--where are my pants?"

"What are you doing?"

"Going after him."

"I think he wants to be alone."

"Exactly. But that's not what he needs." Jaskier scrabbled around for his trousers, pulled them on hurriedly. "From what you've told me, he needs to see that I'm okay. If he's conflating this--" He held up his fingers, displaying the small smear of blood-- "With _that_? With all that blood he spilled in Blaviken? Then I can't just leave him out there to spiral. You must know he can go to the darkest of places at the drop of a hat, and I _will not_ let him do that now. Not over a simple scrape."

Eskel nodded his understanding. "I'll stoke the campfire. Keep the flames up."

Jaskier patted Eskel on the shoulder. "I'll bring him back."

#

Jaskier wasn't exactly _adept_ at tracking. And Geralt, on a good day, was _very adept_ at _not_ being tracked.

But Geralt wasn't having a good day. He wasn't thinking about not being tracked, he was clearly focused on just trying to _get away_.

However, the thing he was running from was impossible to evade: himself.

Jaskier had no problem following the tail of snapped branches in the moonlight. He could even hear Geralt's foot-falls for a time.

The bard eventually came to a small, sloped clearing, and there was the witcher, down on his knees again, back turned to Jaskier, head slightly bowed.

"Geralt?" Jaskier said softly.

Geralt said nothing, but the lightest shiver ran through him, as telling as any open sob.

Slowly, Jaskier strode up behind him, then fell to his own knees at Geralt's shoulder, still letting the witcher have his dignity, still allowing him to look away. With tentative fingers, Jaskier brushed Geralt's hair back, over his shoulder, exposing the pale side of his neck in the low light.

Keeping his movements as delicate as possible, Jaskier leaned in and kissed the side of his throat. It was chaste, yet intimate.

Geralt shivered again, more profoundly this time.

Jaskier kissed him once more, letting his lips linger.

"I hurt you," Geralt said, in the most anguished voice Jaskier had ever heard him use. "I hurt...I hurt _everything_."

"No. Geralt, no--"

"Renfri..." he gritted out.

"She was set to murder a whole host of innocent townsfolk if you hadn't stepped in."

"I should have given her Stregobor. _He_ still breathes, and Renfri..."

He whirled on Jaskier, took him by the shoulders, then drew his pointer finger down Jaskier's jugular, right through where the single drop of blood had rolled down his neck. "I tore out her throat. _Right here_."

Jaskier swallowed harshly, adam's apple bobbing. "She was hellbent on revenge," he said evenly. "You were trying to keep _everyone_ from dying, and then her men-- _they_ attacked _you_. And she wouldn't stop. You know that. You _know_."

"But I don't know if..." His face contorted, and he couldn't meet Jaskier's eyes.

"What?"

"If there was something I could have done _before_. Something I could have said, could have offered. I never told you, but I gave her...or I _took_ from her, I-- I don't even--I don't even know if... I wanted her, had her--maybe could have loved her--but did she even...?"

"You're worried she might have used you."

Geralt nodded, then dove forward, clutching Jaskier, hiding his face in his chest. "Maybe she thought she had to lay with me to keep me on her side."

"And then when you killed her...you felt like _you_ used _her_ , didn't you?"

Geralt's breath hitched. "For a night of pleasure before murdering her just the same. What kind of monster--?"

Jaskier stroked his hair, held him close. "That's not what happened," he reassured him. "It wasn't like that."

"How could you know?" Geralt snapped. "You weren't even there, were only a child--" He paused, as though just realizing something. " _Fuck_." He shoved himself away from Jaskier, rubbed at his eyes, but didn't stand--remained on his knees. "You were _nine years old_ when I killed her."

"What's that got to do with--?"

"You were a child when I killed her, barely a man when I met you, and now..." He turned to look him in the eye for the first time since stomping off into the night. He clasped a big hand around the back of Jaskier's neck, tilted his face toward the moonlight. "You've lost so many years to me."

Jaskier's expression hardened.

 _No_.

 _That_ was a step too far.

"Oh, _shut up_ ," Jaskier said harshly-- _sternly_ \--knocking Geralt's hand away. "Shut up, you melodramatic, brooding, oaf of a witcher." Geralt's eyes went wide--startled--and Jaskier pushed on, undeterred. "I do _not_ need you to have an existential crisis on my behalf. I am not some witless, will-less thing that's been enchanted to follow you around in servitude. And gods help me, if you really intend to start _prattling on_ about how human lives are _so short_ , please, at the _very_ least, spare me the infantilizations. You are my friend, and I _choose_ to be with you." Geralt seemed to have softened, sobered, but Jaskier wasn't done yet. " _I_ chose this for myself, no one else chose for me. _Do you hear me?_ You are beguiling, but not _that_ beguiling you rock-headed, left-footed, bone--"

Geralt cut him off with a kiss.

Jaskier made a startled little noise, but settled in immediately, kissing back firmly, as though punctuating his point. "There," he said when they broke apart. "That settles _that_ , then."

Geralt stared into Jaskier's eyes and he looked...scared. "I don't know why I can't...why I can't just touch you right."

Jaskier's heart _hurt_. "Geralt, you want to touch me with the full force of _who you are_. You want to drop your guard like you do with Eskel. You _do_ drop your guard. Don't you understand how beautiful that is to me?"

"That doesn't mean you have to bear it. Doesn't mean you _can_ bear it."

Jaskier pulled Geralt's forehead to his. "I know. That's why Eskel is trying to find a happy medium for us. A place where you're unafraid and I'm unhurt and there's nothing keeping us apart. I can't undo what happened in Blaviken," he said sadly, "But I can do my very best to give you reasons not to think of that place when you're with me. I know it won't be easy--or quick--but I believe we can manage if we trust each other."

The bard stood, held out his hand. "Do you trust me?" _To handle your heart with care. To know you and know myself_. 

Geralt grasped Jaskier's forearm and allowed him to help him to his feet. "Yes."

"Then let's, the three of us, take this leap together." He tapped Geralt lightly on the tip of his nose, and the witcher glared--his usual response to any sort of adorable antic Jaskier dare draw him into. "Come on. Eskel said he'd stoke the campfire, and it's positively frigid out here."

Without a word, Geralt curled and arm around his shoulders, and the two of them hurried back to their waiting companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the first time I've drawn Renfri-Jaskier parallels. I made a whole fan vid about it, set to "The Rockrose and the Thistle" by The Amazing Devil: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iRlc69u1lSw


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, er, apologies to everyone following any of my three current Witcher WIPs--I've been a bit distracted as of late. My country is in a bit of a crisis, what with the president trying to do a coup and domestic terrorists invading our capitol. It's been difficult to get any professional writing done, let alone fun writing. 
> 
> (Oh! And I keep meaning to say--yes! To the commenter that asked if the blacksmith in love with Eskel was supposed to be the master armorer form the game--yes!)

Three days later, they found a crystal-clear pool to bathe in. The day was bright, the sky clear--the air unseasonably warm. The little pond was clearly fed by a spring somewhere amongst the protruding rocks that made up the aesthetically-pleasing shoreline.

Jaskier unpacked his cake of lavender soap and a small pouch of salts, then began undressing without a single acknowledgment of the two hungry stares tracking his every move. He pulled his clothes off quickly, with perfunctory movements--he didn't want to tease.

"Ugh, it's been ages since I've felt clean," he said. "You'd think you could Aard the dirt away or something, but nooooo," he said idly, conversationally.

Eskel chuckled. Geralt gritted his teeth.

After Jaskier had divested himself of all but his underthings, he slowed, reaching for the hem of his smallclothes with purpose--knowing full well what the sight of him bare did to his traveling companions.

Geralt made a startled, choked-off sound. "I'll--" the White Wolf started, but the words clearly got caught and he had to clear his throat. "I'll go find a place for Roach and Scorpion to graze while you..." He made an awkward gesture toward the pool.

"You're not coming with?" Jaskier pouted, thumbs just barely looped under the hem of his braies.

"I shouldn't."

"Why not?"

Jaskier knew why not. They all knew why not.

But he had to ask. He had to hope.

"Because I couldn't--" Geralt bit back the words, shook his head, clearly chiding himself. "I'll bathe after. You go ahead." With that, he grabbed both horses by their reigns and led them away.

Jaskier let out a heavy, long-suffering sigh as he watched Geralt retreat through a thin stand of trees and out of sight. Eventually, he turned to Eskel. "Tell me _you'll_ at least--?"

Eskel immediately dropped his swords and whipped off his gambeson. "Could use a soak," he agreed.

As Jaskier shoved his smalls down and kicked them away, Eskel raised an eyebrow, fumbling with the fastenings on his own trousers.

Jaskier's cock was ruddy, and slightly chubbed. He wasn't at all ashamed.

"You really don't know why he made a mad dash out of here?" Eskel asked.

"No, I do," Jaskier said, tone heavy. "I'd just hoped..."

"He's getting there," Eskel reassured him. 

With one last longing look off in the direction Geralt had disappeared, Jaskier slipped into the pond. The water was cool and refreshing--made him shiver in delight as his skin prickled all over. He set his bathing accoutrements on a protruding rock, then dunked himself under the surface before beginning to scrub. The scent of lavender and honey filled the air around him.

Eskel followed shortly after, swimming a quick lap before coming back to Jaskier's side. The witcher made a pained sort of sound deep in his chest, and Jaskier glanced over to see him biting his lip. "You look good wet," Eskel admitted.

"Not so bad yourself," Jaskier said, taking in the way the water streamed down in runlets over Eskel's barreled chest. "Drench your hair for me. Bet it looks especially scrumptious when its dripping."

Eskel complied, ducking down before rising out of the water again and whipping his head to the side. He ran his hands through his hair, and wiped the water from his eyes.

Jaskier's cock _truly_ began to fatten then, his head buzzing with arousal. He immediately pushed up against Eskel's chest, mouthing at the scarred side of his face.

Fuck, were all witchers built like gods?

What he wouldn't give to just throw his legs around Eskel's waist and sink down on his--

_Oh._

_Oh, there's an idea_.

"I've just had an epiphany," Jaskier declared.

Eskel wound his arms around him, raised an eyebrow.

"If you're amenable," Jaskier said, feeling sheepish. "I think it would help to _show_ Geralt how to be good to me."

"And by _show_ , you mean...?"

"I'd like you to fuck me. In front of him."

He and Eskel had kissed and petted plenty, and Eskel had, of course, sucked his cock on that first night, but since then it felt like the witcher had taken a step back, out of respect for Geralt. Just like Jaskier hadn't wanted to interfere with the witchers' relationship, so too it seemed Eskel feared coming between the White Wolf and his bard.

Now, Eskel threw his head back and groaned--like Jaskier's proposal was the best, _worst_ idea he'd ever heard. He tightened his arms around Jaskier, pushing his hips against him, growling greedily.

Jaskier's eyes rolled back as he felt Eskel's cock--hot and stiff--prod into his belly.

With a wicked grin, Jaskier reached down between their bodies and encompassed Eskel's dick loosely in his fist, giving it a feather-light stroke.

Eskel's breath hitched. "As much as I'd definitely, _absolutely_ love to take you..." he said, thrusting up lightly into Jaskier's hand. "He won't stand for it. And I don't know that I can fuck you and keep him off you at the same time."

Jaskier _hmm_ ed lightly, as though considering the problem, and let his other hand slide around Eskel's backside, petting his flank lightly before letting his fingers dart back to stroke over Eskel's entrance.

Eskel gasped, instinctually pushing his hips back, seeking out a firmer touch. "I don't want to be wrestling him with you in the middle," he said insistently.

That actually sounded _delectable_ in Jaskier's opinion--who wouldn't want two beautiful witchers fighting over them?--but he understood what Eskel was getting at. "I think I have a solution for that as well."

Sticking his tongue thoughtfully out of the corner of his mouth, he pushed the tip of his middle finger forcefully against Eskel's pucker.

The witcher rocked between Jaskier's hands with an edge of desperation. "O-oh?" he asked, voice breathy.

"How adept are you at tying knots?"

"Very," Eskel panted, shoving himself back, taking Jaskier's finger up to the second knuckle. "Are you trying to convince me?" he teased. "Is this your preferred method of persuasion?"

Jaskier put on an air of scandalization. "Are you suggesting I would try to use sex to influence your decision making? How dare you. The insinuation insults me. Do ambassadors offer kings blowjobs when they're trying to negotiate treaties?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well, seeing as how I'm trying to convince you to _fuck me_ , I don't think my methods are that unconventional."

"Mmm," Eskel agreed. "I'll agree to your terms on one condition."

"What's that?"

"You come down my throat right now."

"I thought I was supposed to be the one offering blowjobs? You know, if I'm the ambassador and you're the king--" 

In one swift movement, Eskel slipped his hands under Jaskier's backside and lifted him out of the water, setting him on the rock next to his bathing supplies. The position conveniently put his red, wet cock at the perfect height for Eskel to suck.

"You're supposed to be offering whatever favors I want," Eskel said smugly. "And what I want is to taste your fucking cock again."

"Is this a _yes_ , then? You'll fuck me in front of Geralt?"

"Lay out your plan for me while I drink you down, and we'll see." With that, he lowered his lips over Jaskier's cockhead, suckling firmly.

Jaskier gabbed hold of Eskel's hair, twisting it in his fist as he willed his hips to stay still. Fuck, his mouth was so soft, and hot, and the way he flicked the tip of his tongue just under the crown...

The witcher was soon bobbing expertly, drawing forth as many gasps and moans as he could. Jaskier squirmed on the rock, toes curling against the stone.

"You're supposed to be talking, bard," Eskel said smugly, lifting off for only a moment before skinning down again, taking Jaskier deeper this time.

"R-right. We'll--We'll tie Geralt. To a t-tree or... _fuck_."

Eskel had pushed forward as far as he could, taking Jaskier to the hilt, cradling him deep in his throat before _swallowing_ firmly around him.

"We-- _You_ will tie him up," Jaskier panted as Eskel continued to deep-throat him. "And we can't tell him what's about to happen. We can't give him a chance to overthink it."

Eskel _hmm_ ed his agreement around Jaskier's cock, and the bard's balls began to tingle.

"And then, I don't know, you rip my clothes off and fuck me while he's unable to do anything but watch us. I don't know how much more explicit I can--"

Eskel pulled back with a small gasp, drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth and sliding down Jaskier's cock. "Do you want me to open you up in front of him?" He licked the underside of Jaskier's shaft.

"Yes. Show him how to work me over, show him everything. Be as rough with me as you think I can take, be as soft with me as you can. If you can do it, he can do it. I just want him to understand, to see that its's alright and he can have me."

Eskel stroked Jaskier with a firm grip, wringing a bead of precome from his tip, which the witcher immediately lapped up with his tongue. "You've really got it bad for him, don't you?"

"I told you, I'm in love with him. I want to give myself to him entirely, if he'll have me." He cupped Eskel's face gently. "Please, help me. Will you do it?"

Eskel smiled. "Fucking you will be no great hardship, as you very well know. But are you prepared for how he'll react? He'll be desperate, angry--maybe even hurt, in the moment. The very fact that _I_ get to fuck you before he does..."

"At this rate, he'll never fuck me."

Eskel huffed a small laugh. "It's been what, just over a week? You're both so impatient."

Jaskier shook his head. "No. It's been _years_ ," he said sadly.

"I take your point. Fuck, just the thought of your tight arse wrapped around my dick while Geralt watches--" With a little needy _ngh_ , he sunk down on Jaskier again.

Jaskier leaned back on his elbows, closed his eyes, and raised his face to the sun. He imagined Geralt while Eskel sucked him--what Geralt might look like all bound, eyes fixed on his bard while his brother bent him over.

Fuck. Gods, Eskel was right. The _thought_ of it--what _would_ Geralt do? Tied up, unable to touch either of them while they fucked right at his feet?

To have those golden eyes blown wide, gaze stuck firmly to Jaskier's hole as another dick slid in and out of him...

"Fuck, Eskel--"

Eskel doubled his efforts. The velvet tightness around Jaskier's cock was so perfect, and the images in his mind were so exhilarating. The pleasure coiling between his legs was a tight buzz of sensation, and each firm suck pulled him higher, made the coil tighter.

He looked down, just as Eskel looked up. They made eye contact and Jaskier was so overwhelmed by the heat he saw there that it thrust him over the edge. His sac drew tight, and he shot down Eskel's willing throat with a shout.

The witcher's eyes rolled back as he greedily drank Jaskier down.

Jaskier couldn't catch his breath. His lips felt numb and his lower body thrummed with pleasure.

Fuck, Eskel was so good. He even held the bard's cock in his mouth while he softened, clearly not yet ready to relinquish the pure pleasure of simply having it on his tongue.

When he finally pulled away, he leaned against the rock with a smug, satisfied look on his face.

"What about you?" Jaskier panted, chest still heaving, stomach fluttering. He gestured vaguely in the direction of Eskel's cock.

"Saving my load for your arse. I want to see the look on Geralt's face when I shoot across your back and make a sloppy mess of your hole."

Jaskier's cock twitched and his stomach tightened. Gods, if only he had a witcher's refractory period...

"So, just to confirm. That's a yes?" he asked.

"That's a yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for next chapter (spoilers): dubious consent, but not in your typical way. Geralt agrees to being tied up, and neither Eskel nor Jaskier touch him without his consent, but he's not fully informed as to what he's agreeing to when he agrees. And he *is* upset when he realizes he can't participate like he wants to.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading! Comments are <3


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